Study Conversations
by NotAContrivance
Summary: The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Darcy comes to talk to Mr. Bennet about his intentions towards Lizzie. Lizzie and her father then proceed to talk about Darcy and a bit of growing up.


Merry (slightly belated) Christmas! This story is actually a present for my dear friend Izzy, who requested a fic where Darcy comes to tell Mr. Bennet of his intentions (because apparently no one has done this before for the LBD), with bonus points if I had Lizzie/Mr. Bennet interaction. Being me, I could not resist the latter, hence the delay for this fic. I wrote the part with Darcy this morning pre-presents, and the part with Lizzie this evening... and it wound up being quite a bit longer than I expected. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, Izzy, as well as the rest of you (and, hey, I even managed to work in Dostoyevsky!)!

Also, I don't own the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, and this is set after (SPOILERS HERE) Lizzie and Darcy get together. Jane and Bing are also back together but not engaged, as everyone seems to think they will be, because they have some things to work out... but they're not really mentioned much in the story. And let me know if you have any further questions or comments (reviews are appreciated)!

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_In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy; and that it should be through her means — that she, his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her — was a wretched reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile._

_- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter Fifty-Nine._

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William Darcy knocked on the door to the den a bit hesitantly. When no response was forthcoming/followed, he suppressed a sigh, pressing a sweaty palm against the door frame, and knocked again, this time his traditional hard rap. He took a deep breath, attempting to mentally prepare himself for the conversation he intended—and needed—to have. Darcy had just raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open, startling him and nearly making him jump. A vaguely amused Mr. Bennet stared back at him.

Darcy had never paid much attention to Mr. Bennet, who seemed to be quiet and keep to himself, much unlike the rest of his family, until recently as circumstances made it unavoidable. The resemblance between father and daughter, in coloring and some mannerisms, seemed especially visible then. Seeing traces of the familiar features in the color of her father's hair and eyes and nose made the man feel like less of a stranger and set Darcy slightly more at ease. His shoulders relaxed marginally.

Thomas Bennet frowned, regarding the eerily-still young man before him. He generally did not enjoy others disturbing his solitude, but this man was so very serious and usually so confident that whatever conversation was going to ensue would be highly amusing. Also, judging by the way Darcy was in company, he was somewhat sensible, capable of having an intelligent conversation, and had opinions, unlike most of the people Thomas knew in town when he bothered to socialize. That being said, Darcy was, of course, a bit of an arrogant, unpleasant sort who thought himself too good for this town and the people in it, but Thomas, who had a particular appreciation for the follies and silliness of others, expected to get a good laugh out of the man's self-importance, the way his daughter did. "Come in, then," Mr. Bennet said, motioning for the younger man to follow him into the room.

Darcy entered the room hastily, rubbing his hands on his slacks as if his palms were sweaty. He looked as if he wanted to bolt from the room yet was willing himself to remain. Mr. Bennet suppressed a smile, closing the door behind the taller man, who almost jumped, and motioning for him to sit down. Darcy, however, did not. Whether this was out of distraction or rudeness Thomas could not strictly say; Darcy waved him off almost as a second thought, already looking around the room and standing awkwardly square in the middle of it. Mr. Bennet's library was really quite impressive for the size of the room and its bookshelves. "So, Mister Darcy," Thomas began ironically, taking a seat in his favorite armchair by the fireplace, "what is it you wish to speak with me about?"

Knowing what he did of the man through observation, his wife's idle gossip, and his daughter's character sketches, Thomas wondered many things about Darcy, the most important of which being if he would actually _say_ anything. Darcy's feelings of unease actually grew upon setting foot in the room, which strangely and unmistakably reminded him of his father's study except for the neatly-trimmed bonsai trees, small Zen garden by the window, and the lingering aroma of pipe tobacco. He had no idea how Mr. Bennet was going to react to his news, but he knew his opinion was important to Lizzie, and he despaired of not securing her father's approval.

Mr. Bennet wanted to laugh at the look of wide-eyed mortification on the usually composed man's face but refrained partly out of pity and partly because he wanted to let the whole thing play out. Darcy looked almost comically adrift in the room, starting at the sound of his name and turning to face Thomas. Eyes still wide, he wore an expression that was simultaneously embarrassed and chagrined at his own inattention.

Darcy took a deep breath yet again, inhaling greedily as if he were a drowning man or a surfacing swimmer, wanting to sit but finding himself utterly incapable of it. Mr. Bennet's mocking smile reminded Darcy's of Lizzie's—a smile he was now proud to say she graced him with in a pleased and sincere manner. Perhaps this familiar sight should have eased his discomfort, but instead it only served to remind him of that disastrous first attempt and the challenging look in her eyes as she sat down in front of the camera and told him it was this, _here and now_, or nothing. There was so much at stake here, and why had he ever insisted on just doing this by himself? Because he'd felt he owed it to her father to explain his feelings and intentions, man-to-man?

He'd practiced having this conversation before, about a half-dozen times until Lizzie had walked in on him and burst out in hysterical laughter. With a pleading expression, he'd turned to her and she'd pretended to be her father, but that hadn't comforted him either, even when she'd assured him that it would be fine. She told him her father would like him because he was quiet and sensible, at the very least. She'd hinted that he would like him even more if he knew what Darcy had done for their family, for Lydia, but Darcy hoped Mr. Bennet and the rest of the family never found out about that if he could help it. He ran over all the advice she'd given him: that he could attempt smalltalk, that her father, like herself, appreciated directness, that he was subdued, that he liked trains and pipes and bonsai trees and quiet, and other things that kept slipping from his mind.

"Don't get too worked up about it, Will," Lizzie had said, needlessly straightening his bowtie and smoothing over the fabric in a way that made him swallow hard and feel a bit like he was choking. Barely suppressing a laugh, she continued, "Just remember, the less you say, the better." She gave him a look, and he couldn't even laugh at himself because all of him had just tied up in knots. Divining this from his face (she'd become so much better than anyone at reading his impassive facial expressions), she leaned in and kissed him until he'd almost forgotten he was going to speak with her father at all. "You know, you don't _have_ to do this," she reminded him, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, clearly thinking about how there were much better uses of their time. Somehow he'd managed to look away from her bewitching eyes, her lips, and he found the strength to tear himself away from her with a tremulous, apologetic smile and walk here, to his doom.

He found himself wishing, once again, that he was good with words and knew what to say. He didn't exactly have a good track record of engaging with Bennets, much less having conversations about his _feelings_. "Sir, I've been hiding something from you that I shouldn't have and that I can't anymore. I need to admit something to you," Darcy found himself saying, falling into the familiarity of the recitation. If Mr. Bennet had seen his daughter's videos by that point, he would've known what was coming next, but as he hadn't, he merely raised his eyebrows, giving Darcy an expectant look. He wondered idly what his gossip-loving wife would think of this, what she would expect them to say, and he'd already started thinking about how he was going to use this to wind her up.

Darcy nodded once and began pacing outright, but he was wise enough now not to continue down that route and risk offending Lizzie's father. He'd grown as a person, and he saw how he'd been wrong about the Bennets. "Mr. Bennet, sir, I'm in love with your daughter," Darcy blurted, stuttering a bit on that first L, saying it all in one breath, just as he had that first time.

Thomas' eyebrows shot up in mild astonishment. He was speechless for a good five seconds, the same way his daughter had been the first time Darcy had told her, though he didn't know this. That being said, he wasn't wholly surprised—why else would the man want to speak to him in the first place? That and Darcy's uncharacteristically nervous demeanor meant that it had to involve one of his daughters, although the reality of it was still a bit unfathomable to Mr. Bennet.

He had his suspicions as to Darcy's preference but kept them to himself, watching the other man shrewdly. Darcy stood there in silence, somewhat relieved but still feeling the need to unburden himself further, swinging his arms slightly. "You'll have to be more specific, Darcy. I do, after all, have _three_ daughters," he remarked dryly.

Darcy nodded a few too many times, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks again. He'd worn a suit to the house, intent on making a good impression, but he'd left his jacket in Lizzie's room, so he stood there in merely his shirt and suspenders. He was wearing the bowtie, a jaunty red one that was Lizzie's favorite, for luck. Yes, of course, that made sense. "Lizzie," he murmured softly, a bit breathless as he said it. He found himself smiling unconsciously at just the sound of her name, unaware that the other man could not fail to notice just how besotted he was. "I'm in love with Lizzie."

At first, Thomas smiled. Evidently the young man was quite fond of his Lizzie, so he clearly had good taste. Then he thought about it a bit more and frowned; the man before him was barely more than a stranger to him, and yet he was in love with Thomas' favorite daughter? He'd thought Darcy had come along to keep Bing company or perhaps to avoid the man's sister, had only realized recently that Darcy's intense staring was his version of making cow eyes at Lizzie. Did this man, this interloper, even know his Lizzie well enough to love her, to really and truly appreciate her?

"I thought you found her just _decent enough_," Mr. Bennet remarked pointedly, enjoying the way the younger man flinched and almost squirmed at the same time. Lizzie had pretended not to care, that those words hadn't upset her, attempting to laugh them off with her self-deprecating sense of humor, but he'd known his daughter well enough to see through her. Darcy shut his eyes; would those ill-chosen words haunt him forever? He'd just said them at the time because he was in a bad mood and didn't want to dance. He'd barely given Lizzie a second thought at the time, and he hadn't wanted to socialize with anyone, much less make friends at an event where he knew no one but the Lees. "What brought about this sudden change of heart?" he interjected, silently enjoying the pun he'd thrown in there.

Darcy blinked, wishing he'd remembered Lizzie's warnings better. He couldn't quite size Lizzie's father up or make out what the man thought of him. Mr. Bennet and his daughter shared that same undefinable quality, that enigmatic archness, the challenge in their expression. Darcy loved that quality in Lizzie, but it made him second-guess himself (and her) time and time again. "I was grievously wrong about that, sir, and that was a gross understatement of anything I have ever thought about your daughter. I'm sorry I said it," Darcy said quickly, eager to get that out of the way. "Your daughter has always been..." he all but stammered before trailing off, trying to think of just one word to describe Lizzie. Exemplary? Incredible? Amazing? Perfect? Radiant? Intelligent? Beautiful? Lovely? Vivacious? She was all of that and much more besides, and mere words could not do her spirit or her charm justice.

"Extraordinary," he pronounced after a moment. Mr. Bennet's lips curved upwards. That he could not disagree with. Lizzie (and by extension the rest of his daughters) was his proudest achievement. Darcy licked his lips nervously, approaching the older man. "It isn't something I saw right away," he admitted a bit guiltily, looking the other man in the eyes. "I like to think you know that it takes a second glance sometimes to appreciate the rare and beautiful things in life properly, so that way you have time to see all their different angles and facets. It merely took me a few moments longer to notice it," he explained quietly, wishing he had a way to explain that inner spark Lizzie had, that inner radiance, the way she lit up a room and brought warmth to his life. But he could not even explain these things, the myriad little ways in which she'd changed his life for the better just by existing, to Lizzie, much less her father.

Thomas tried his best not to smile. Darcy appreciated his daughter for who she was, even if he had difficulties articulating it; that much was evident. It all meant little, of course, if Lizzie still disliked (hated) Darcy as much as she once had. Mr. Bennet nodded sagely, steepling his fingers. "And does my daughter know about this, how you feel about her?" he asked in a measured voice. Thomas began to wonder then, for the first time, just how much his daughter had kept from him. She and this man had been thrown together by chance three times this year; he knew little other than that and what she chose to share with him. How much of her, of the woman his daughter had become this last year, did he not know?

Darcy nodded just once, a hesitant, small smile curling up at the corners of his lips. That was more of an answer than anything he said afterward. "Yes, sir, she does," he replied simply and contentedly, back to thinking about Lizzie, who was somewhere waiting for him.

Thomas was not especially surprised by this. It seemed that fathers only found out about things after they were a fait accompli. As the young man was either unwilling or too distracted to elaborate further, Thomas took it upon himself to keep the conversation moving. "Am I to take it that my daughter in some measure reciprocates these feelings, Darcy?" Mr. Bennet continued cautiously, relatively certain he already knew the answer. She had always been inordinately fixated upon him, even when she was cursing the ground he walked on and insulting him in every other sentence. Thus, he supposed, she went from one intensity of feelings to the other.

Darcy nodded, unable to stop himself from smiling widely. Mr. Bennet had only ever seen mild smiling-like expressions from the man before, or at least pleasant neutral expressions, so the effect of a full, dimples-flashing smile was alarmingly dazzling. Even more alarmingly, it was also the smile of a man deeply in love and equally convinced in the reciprocity of the affection. There was, indeed, apparently a great deal his daughter had not told him. She had been distracted lately, quieter than usual, but he'd thought that was just her thesis and recent events with Lydia weighing on her. He had never taken it for love!

While Mr. Bennet was considering and questioning these somewhat disturbing facts, Darcy found himself once again capable of speech. "We're, um..." He faltered, trying to think of the best way to explain. "I..." Lizzie was his now, and that was all he knew, all they'd discussed. Thomas stared up at the younger man, a part of him wishing he'd heard this from his daughter, wondering if any of the rest of their family (or anyone else) had any idea about any of this. "I intend to start courting her," Darcy announced awkwardly. If Thomas had perhaps been in a better or less discombobulated mood, he might've snickered then, but as it was, he merely stared. "Dating her," Darcy amended, upon realizing to his slight horror that, while he considered Lizzie his girlfriend, he had never, at any point in their acquaintance, actually asked her out on a proper date.

Mr. Bennet blinked. This conversation had served to remind him of something he had never quite forgotten, not with all his wife's talk of marrying their daughters off, but that he'd never particularly had to consider: that he would lose them, all of them, to husbands and new families. Up until that very moment, he had never thought he would lose his Lizzie, who said she would rather be a spinster than married off to, quite literally, the first man who came along, much less that she would be the first to go. But if not to this man or to the world, he would lose her, sooner than he realized. It was all very depressing to think about. "Are you asking me for my daughter's hand in marriage, Mr. Darcy?" he asked in a voice that was hoarse and hollow. He swallowed hard, preparing himself for the answer.

Though somewhat taken aback at the question and its bluntness, Darcy stood his ground. Darcy's brow furrowed as he took in the sorrow on the man's face. The man looked at least ten years older, and Darcy felt a bit bad about putting that look on his face. "No," he replied slowly, pausing a moment and then adding, "not yet, at least." He said it lighter than he felt it. He was certain he wanted to marry Elizabeth Bennet someday, had planned for their future life together since that moment at Collins and Collins when he'd determined he was going to tell her how he felt. But he didn't have a ring, not yet, and there were still so many things about her that he wanted and needed to know. He wanted to enjoy getting to know her and vice-versa, becoming comfortable as a couple before delving into their future together. And, as Lizzie sometimes pointed out, he could get a bit ahead of himself at times.

Mr. Bennet relaxed a little, relieved that he wasn't going to be losing his daughter so soon, though he couldn't help but notice that Darcy had said "not yet," meaning he would probably take his daughter away someday. He wanted to hate the other man for that, but he knew the moment he first held his second daughter that he couldn't hold onto her forever... and Darcy clearly loved Lizzie. He was a man who had everything going for him, and there was nothing more that he and his wife could want for their daughter in a future life partner, was there? Not to mention that Darcy was not the sort of man who was used to being refused.

He watched him carefully, staring up at the younger man with a flinty glint in his blue-gray eyes. "Then why are you telling me all this, Darcy?" Mr. Bennet asked, arching a brow. Why would Darcy come to him if he wasn't going to propose? Why tell him this at all?

Darcy swallowed and stretched to his full, intimidating height. "I wanted to make my intentions towards your daughter clear to you, so as to save you from any potential worry," he explained kindly. He'd felt he owed it to the other man. After all, Darcy knew what it was to worry about his sister, to wonder at the motives of any of the boys and men interested in her, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. Thomas peered up at Darcy, wondering if the other man knew that he had never really worried about Lizzie. Of all of his daughters, Lizzie had the best natural discernment and judgment. Her skepticism and refusal to compromise or settle had served her well there. He'd never really thought she would choose a man beneath her or not exactly what he wanted, though he'd occasionally worried about it with the way her mother went on about it. But actually hearing such a confirmation from the young man she'd chosen... he couldn't deny that it wasn't nice.

"I... didn't feel right about not letting you know," Darcy confessed, looking down as if he felt guilty for ever keeping it from him, though they clearly couldn't have been dating long. Judging by Darcy's lingering discomfort and their previous interactions, the understanding between him and Lizzie could not have been going on for longer than about a week or so, maybe two. Darcy had felt bad keeping it a secret from everyone, even as he and Lizzie enjoyed spending time together, getting to know each other better. He didn't want their relationship to be a dirty little secret, to make her or anyone think he thought of Lizzie that way, in a way that did not do her or himself credit. Lizzie had liked the idea of keeping something to herself, of keeping him to herself before everyone found out and got all excited and then they never got any time alone together, but she'd recognized that they needed to tell everyone.

Mr. Bennet debated saying he appreciated all of that, but he decided against it, wanting to drag things out a bit more. He snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, Mr. Darcy, we're not living in the 1800s," he quipped, amused at how old-school Lizzie's apparent boyfriend was, with his antiquated manners, formal speech, and fondness for old-man clothing. He was so traditional that Thomas wondered if he actually had similar antiquated beliefs about the role of women in society, but anyone who knew Lizzie even a little would not reasonably expect her to be a traditional housewife type. Except perhaps his wife, who was a bit deluded on this point.

A flush spread across Darcy's face, and he could see why his daughter enjoyed teasing him. He continued in a faux-stern voice, "My daughter is an adult, and you hardly need to secure my approval for..." He trailed off, still confused as to why Darcy was here and what it was he wanted from him. "...dating my daughter," he finished, unable to keep the questioning tone from his voice. "Lizzie can certainly make her own decisions," he murmured, shaking his head fondly.

Darcy nodded hastily, and Mr. Bennet suppressed a smile. His daughter's paramour would make a very funny bobblehead. "-I-I know all that, but I wanted you to know, sir," Darcy began earnestly. Thomas raised a brow, wondering not for the first time if Darcy was for real. Darcy took a deep breath and continued, "I'm very serious about your daughter. My feelings and affections will never waver." He said all of this while looking into Mr. Bennet's eyes, and even cynical Mr. Bennet could not doubt his resoluteness, though he thought that Darcy perhaps underestimated how feelings in the first flush of first love could change, by necessity, and develop into something different.

Darcy clasped his hands together but otherwise remained still and stiff. "I cannot imagine myself with anyone else," he said quite bluntly, adding without prompting, "and I see myself marrying her some day... when she's ready, when we're _both_ ready." Thomas blinked, trying to absorb all of the things his daughter's admirer had just said. He'd all but spoken in absolutes; though a bit of a romantic and a dreamer (which Mr. Bennet was just learning about the man who was to be his future son-in-law), he was a forever-kind-of-guy. The kind who saw the big picture and planned his future years ahead of time. Darcy grew nervous that Mr. Bennet wasn't saying anything and continued nervously, "I just... I wanted you to know that I'm in this for the long haul. Hurting Lizzie is like hurting myself, and it's something I never want to do. I love her more than I can ever express, and just having her in my life means... _so_ much to me."

Mr. Bennet blinked again, seeing nothing but sincerity in Darcy. He could find fault with nothing Darcy had said, could think of no real reason to object to the man, who respected and loved his daughter and considered her wishes in everything. Nor could he mock such sincerity when confronted by it. So, in lieu of any other response, Thomas rose from his chair and held out a hand to Darcy. Confused, Darcy took his hand and shook it. Mr. Bennet's gaze was steely but a bit watery around the edges as he stared straight into the younger, bluer gaze of the man who was so set on stealing his favorite daughter away from him. "Take care of my daughter..." He trailed off, resting his fingers on his chin and cocking his head at the other man. "Do you have a first name, son?" he asked hesitantly. He'd remembered what his daughter had said long ago about Darcy sounding like a dub-step D.J., how it was a girl's name, and, what, did he think he was Madonna or Cher or some kind of one-name female popstar?

Darcy nearly jumped at the gruff tone of voice. He did not realize it was a grudging sort of respect, not knowing him very well. It had been many years since anyone had called him son, and Darcy found his throat very thick all of a sudden. He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat before releasing Mr. Bennet's hand. "Yes," he all but stammered, "William. My first name is William."

Thomas smiled, more relieved than he was willing to admit that Lizzie's boyfriend had a first name or at least more than one name. "Okay then, _William_..." he said, trying it and gaging the other man's reaction. Darcy just smiled. "Welcome to the family," Mr. Bennet said magnanimously. Only then did Darcy finally allow himself to relax, which was good, because Mr. Bennet threw an arm around his shoulders quite unexpectedly. He'd always wanted a son, though he loved his daughters, and Darcy seemed like the sort of man who would make family gatherings a bit more bearable.

He would at least have someone sensible to talk to when Mrs. Bennet was going all out with her holiday preparations or having one of her occasional freak-outs. Obviously he had to be a decent sort if Lizzie liked him and if he could even appreciate Lizzie, so they already had that in common. "Now, remember, you knew what you were getting into before you signed on for this!" he exclaimed warningly, clapping Darcy on the back with a firmness that almost made the younger man fall over. It was probably as close as he would ever come to explaining or apologizing for his wife's insanity and the craziness of his family as a whole.

Thomas laughed, a rich, low sound, and released Darcy. "You're free to go, but send Lizzie in in a few minutes, will you, William?" he exclaimed, showing a very relieved (but still somewhat nervous) Darcy to the door. Mr. Bennet hadn't, after all, said that he approved, at least, strictly speaking.

Mr. Bennet retreated to the solace of his now empty den, sitting back down in his favorite armchair, shaking his head in disbelief. And then his shoulders started shaking, and he broke out into hysterical laughter. Sometimes you had to laugh or else you'd end up crying; he understood laughter as a defense mechanism better perhaps than any of his daughters. Darcy had not failed to amuse him, that was sure, but he hadn't quite expected all that (and, really, how could he?). Fortunately, however, his fit of laughter did not last too long, and Mr. Bennet was able to compose himself when he heard the softer knock and his daughter's voice, hesitant, asking, "Dad?"

He got up to let her in, and a somewhat anxious Lizzie walked in. She was not, of course, as nervous as her beau, but she rubbed her hands together and stood uncertainly next to his favorite chair. Thomas couldn't quite draw it out with her, so he seated himself in the armchair and motioned for her to sit next to him. She sat down a bit unwillingly, on the very edge of the seat, like she was willing to get up to go to bat for Darcy if he said he didn't approve. "So, Lizzie," he began, wishing he had thought to stuff and light his pipe, "that young man says he's in love with you. And apparently that you're dating." He fixed her with a look, and Lizzie looked away guiltily, not denying it. "Did you put him up to this to give an old man a laugh?" he asked after a moment of silence, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

Lizzie let out a laugh, covering her face. "No, Dad, believe me, I did not," she muttered, shaking her head and trying not to imagine how awkwardly it had all gone. Will had come out not entirely certain of what her father thought of him, which had been her father's goal all along, she suspected. At least he hadn't put his foot in his mouth like he was prone to doing, or it would've been the first thing her father mentioned. "Will thought that up all on his own," she added fondly a moment later, only just managing to suppress a snicker. The soft smile on Lizzie's face and the intimate nickname betrayed her feelings on the subject.

Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly, leaning forward in his chair. "Is he always so earnest?" he asked a bit incredulously, quirking a brow. It was the best word he could think of using to explain the way the younger man had approached him and starting talking of forevers and marriage and whatnot. It had, however, explained why the young man kept coming over and making such effort to be polite to them all of a sudden, even despite his wife's borderline incivility.

She laughed again and nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so," she continued in the same tone she'd earlier used to mock the man, "The Darcybot has no other settings. It's in his programming." Thomas laughed loudly in spite of himself, remembering how she used to do the robot when imitating the taciturn young man as she had when she'd recounted moments of their stay at Netherfield to him all those months ago. Lizzie joined in, sobering up after a moment. "I know it's hard to believe people actually talk like that, but, hey, I always did like classic novels, right?" She shrugged, smoothing her hair back, tucking a few long, wayward strands behind her ear. Thomas smiled back at her. He noticed that she looked quietly pleased with it, every bit as radiant as his new future son-in-law undoubtedly thought, and wondered how he hadn't noticed this difference in her—a difference that could only come with being in a loving relationship.

His daughter was a woman now. He blinked furiously at the thought, remembering when she'd followed him around as a girl, how she'd started talking early and his name was her first word. He remembered her crawling onto his lap and demanding to have a story read to her or, later on, when she'd gotten bigger, climbing into his lap and reading the same book together in silence. She'd grown up so fast. He stared at her for a moment, seeing both the girl she had been and the woman she now was, due in some small part to the man who'd come into his study and confessed his feelings. It was amazing how much things could change in a year, he thought distractedly. "I'm still not sure he deserves you," Thomas began in a voice that was a bit throatier than he would've wished. Lizzie's brows shot up, and a mixture of anger and something like sadness passed across her face. "But," he said after a long moment's pause, struggling to swallow over the growing lump in his throat, "if I have to lose you, my Lizzie, I don't think I could find a man more worthy of you."

She looked like she'd been bracing herself for a blow or an argument, which was a bit insulting, really, but when what he'd said registered, she sat up suddenly, her eyes wide. "Oh, Dad, you're not going to lose me!" she cried, getting up and throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "You're _never_ going to lose me!" she assured him. He heard the catch in her voice, though, and knew that losing her was inevitable. After all, he'd already lost Jane, in her own way, to the big city and her new life and this strange, cheerful Bing fellow (or he was soon to lose her to him, at any rate, though his affections were apparently more variable than Darcy's). Uncharacteristically, he pulled her closer and allowed himself to hug her just a little bit tighter, closing his eyes.

He'd really missed having this closeness of her. He felt like he'd barely seen her the past year. She'd spent almost four of those months away from him, at VidCon, at Netherfield, on vacation, at Hunsford visiting Charlotte, at Pemberley... and though all of his daughters had been absent for various parts of the year, Lizzie was the one he'd missed the most. He felt like they hadn't talked, really talked, since Christmas. Thomas tilted his head and rightfully gave his daughter a skeptical look, pulling away from her even though he was loathe to do it. "Your William was very serious in here."

She smiled faintly, her eyes even crinkling at the corners, but shook her head. Her arms were still loosely resting on his shoulders, but she leaned forward and looked him square in the eyes. Her expression was determined and stubborn as ever, just as stubborn as she'd been when she was a little girl who'd insisted on learning to bike ride no matter how many times she fell down, the one who climbed trees fearlessly and leaped up onto a stage as if it were her bedroom. "I'm always going to be your daughter. That's never going to change, Dad," she told him fiercely, once again drawing him into a hug. This time _she_ closed her eyes, thinking of how nice it was to be here with him, growing up.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, which didn't do much to dislodge the lump that was growing in his throat. There were no words for how proud he was of her and the woman she was becoming—had become? He stroked her hair idly. "You do _love_ him, though, right?" he asked to break the silence and lighten things up a bit so that he'd feel a bit less like crying. He made himself sound more uncertain than he really was, because, as with her William, her affection was written all over her face, and he could only wonder at the depth of her feelings. "He seemed pretty certain you did, but given that this is the first I've ever heard of it," he continued dryly in a slightly reproachful tone, "and last I knew I thought you hated him, I wanted to confirm it for myself."

Lizzie released him, sitting on one of the arms of his chair and hanging her head a bit, embarrassed. Apparently the secret relationship had been her idea; he supposed he couldn't quite blame her, considering what everyone knew of her previous opinions of Darcy and what her mother was bound to say when she found out. Especially once she found out that Darcy had more or less said he intended to marry Lizzie someday. As he stared up at his daughter, beautiful and bright and the best thing he'd ever helped create, he wondered if even she knew this. He assumed so since she certainly knew her boyfriend better than he did, but he had a bit of trouble believing that such a thing wouldn't cause Lizzie to head for the hills.

"Yes," she confessed so quietly he almost didn't hear it. She didn't look at him, and she was shy and almost timid in a way she never really was. A tiny smile spread slowly across Lizzie's face, eventually widening into a full grin. Her blue-green gaze was a bit far-off, directed out the window to the backyard in the same way Darcy's had earlier, when he'd been thinking of her. "More than I ever thought possible," she breathed, only then turning to look at him, still grinning like a sap. "I was so wrong about him, I..." she hastened to explain.

Mr. Bennet, however, shook his head, waving it off. He could sense that she was about to start gushing about all the things Darcy had done and how he was the best man she knew and so on and so forth, and call him a jealous man, but he wasn't in the mood for hearing about it at the present. "You can tell me the whole story later," he told her, giving her a look that he hoped conveyed it was a promise. He was happy for her and her new man, but he didn't quite want to hear the full story now. Maybe at a quieter, less emotional time in a day or so.

Her eyes, so perfectly cobalt blue, widened in understanding, and she nodded, her smile falling a little. "Good," he pronounced gruffly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He pulled her head down slightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He pulled away, releasing her and hoping he regained a bit of his dignity and composure with a bit of time. "I never wanted anything less for you, Lizzie," he said warmly. Lizzie blinked back tears of her own and smiled at him, like she'd always known this and didn't even need to say anything. Remembering with a bit of chagrin how her father hated it when anyone sat on the arms of her chair, she gently slid down off of the arm of the chair, tugging the skirt of her dress down when it clung to her legs.

Thomas smiled back at her, hating how watery his smile was. He prided himself on being detached and phlegmatic and did not enjoy the rush of emotion this day had unexpectedly brought with it. Lizzie stood in front of him a bit uncertainly, though she intended to go. "Though," he said suddenly, smirking a little, "can we wait a bit to tell your mother?" Lizzie nodded vigorously, her eyes bugging out, her face alive with worry, and agreed that this was a good idea. And probably also the main reason why she'd waited so long to tell him once she and Darcy had worked things out between them.

Mr. Bennet chuckled and rubbed his hands gleefully. He would really enjoy hinting to his wife and winding her up about it. "Will you let me tell her?" he asked in a faux innocent voice. Lizzie rolled her eyes and gave him a look, knowing that he was going to confuse and toy with the poor woman for at least a few days. She was already in a tizzy about Jane and Bing's reunion, making Bing's favorite meals and hinting that she expected a wedding in the next six months but the sooner the better. But she sighed anyway, vaguely amused, signaling that she would let him tell her (because obviously it beat actually having to tell her mother herself, or, worse, drag Darcy with her to do it). Thomas smiled and tried not to cackle. She probably hadn't realized it yet, but he would likely have to rope both her and her Mister Darcy into talking to Mrs. Bennet so she'd actually believe it (and it was going to be _so good,_ because his wife's histrionic reactions were the stuff of legend).

Lizzie snorted and turned to go, but her father's voice stopped her yet again. "You're sure about him?" he asked seriously, watching her for any signs of reluctance or hesitation. Lizzie turned around slowly, meeting her father's concerned gaze. She somehow doubted any of her sisters would've received the same consideration or as much comment.

"Yeah, I am," she said, smiling a little. There wasn't a single shred of doubt in her speech.

Her father favored her with a cautious smile, getting up to doubtlessly collect his pipe, tobacco, and matches. "Good," he muttered succinctly. He paused for a moment, stuffing his pipe distractedly, before going on, "because, despite your William's assurances that he would never break up with you, I would _hate_ to have to explain to your mother why you're sobbing and that there isn't going to be a summer wedding after all." Lizzie beamed at his words, her hand on the doorknob. He reached for the box of matches and slid one out. "Or the rich, handsome husband she's been dreaming of you having since you were a fetus," he added wryly, imitating his wife's vocal cadence.

Lizzie laughed again, and Thomas couldn't help but laugh too. There were few sounds he loved more in the world than his daughter's laughter (except Lydia's because her laugh could sound alternatively like a witch's cackle or a hyena at times), though he would be hard-pressed to admit it. "Oh, come on, Dad. Like I would have a summer wedding," Lizzie quipped, making a face and trying very hard not to imagine the elaborate wedding that her mother would no doubt start planning as soon as she found out about the two of them. She almost cringed to think about it. She didn't want the fluffy gown or any of the ridiculous things her mother would undoubtedly attempt to insist upon. "I'd get married in November or something."

Mr. Bennet, who had been in the process of lighting his pipe, froze. His eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth, nearly dropping his pipe, almost scared to ask if she meant this November (he could easily see the girl "wreaking havoc on her poor mother's nerves" by eloping). Lizzie rolled her eyes at him, sensing the direction of his thoughts before he articulated them. "Obviously I don't mean _this_ year!" she replied, wearing an exasperated expression "Clearly you've been living with Mom for _far_ too long if that's what your brain immediately jumped to!" She made a huffing sound and opened the door, mumbling mostly under her breath, "As if I would marry someone I've known and dated for less than a year?"

She shut the door behind her quietly, and he heard her stomp down the hallway, presumably to find her young man and give him the good news. Thomas walked over to select a volume from one of his bookshelves. There was nothing to settle his mind like a good book. A moment later, he was back in his armchair, pipe in mouth, Dostoyevsky in hand, feet on the ottoman, trying his hardest to forget that he'd just had two conversations too many about his favorite daughter's suddenly-existent lovelife.

- Loren ;*


End file.
